


I'm knocking on heaven's door

by NikeScaret



Series: hellfire burns in your eyes [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne is Robin, New AU!, This is mainly based off of a post I saw a few months back, except not really???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 14:32:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10698978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikeScaret/pseuds/NikeScaret
Summary: Damian didn't go where Jason went when he died.He went someplace else.Someplaceworse.





	I'm knocking on heaven's door

**Author's Note:**

> Yeeeah I have no excuse for this.
> 
> I was helping my friend past writer's block and this thing came up and now it's mine.
> 
> Yay!
> 
> But yes, I know that I already gave a few other things to do with on but here.
> 
> Enjoy my word vomit.
> 
> (Hopefully it's not shitty, haha.)

When Damian opens his eyes, he still sometimes expects to see steel overhead dripping blood.

He doesn't.

Never has.

Hasn't in two years.

Hasn't since he opened his eyes in Father's arms instead of in the grip of a threat.

Damian turns on his side, and curls into a ball, hiding his face in his pillow.

Sometimes he thinks he can hear the poisonous words of the demons around his little box, the ones that laughed as he was punished. As he was forced to kill.

Damian curls up tighter.

Damian's honestly scared of going back there-it's the only thing he's afraid of, besides those he loves going there.

Compared to his new one's, his old fears pale in comparison.

They seem so insignificant compared to what happened.

Damian looks around his room, at the moonlight streaming through his window, and decides he's not going to get any more sleep.

He turns on his light, pulls out his sketchbook, and begins drawing.

He doesn't draw happy things. He draws what he _did_ , what he _saw,_ what he _did_ to his tormentors.

Damian hasn't drawn happy things in a long time.

Just as he finishes the sketch of a beating heart in his blood covered hand, his alarm goes off.

Damian stiffens, reaching out robotically to turn it off.

He looks down at the pages and tears them out, rips them into pieces and throws them into the fire.

He can't stand to look at them.

He can't bear to look at his failures.

He storms into the kitchen, angrily grabbing a mug and filling it.

“A coffee, Master Damian?” Alfred murmurs behind him, and he's lucky that Damian didn't smash the mug in his face because two years of being on the human world isn't enough to stifle decades of perceived time spent in a place where you kill or you're killed.

Where you torture or be tortured.

Where you attack without question, no hesitation, because anything there will kill you.

You can't trust anyone but yourself.

“Yes.” Damian says as he pulls his thoughts away from that topic.

To be honest, Damian's only gotten a short amount of sleep each week.

He's _exhausted_ but he can't seem to sleep.

He just-

He just can't.

So he roams the grounds, walks through Gotham, and sees what nobody wants to see, and-

He tried to help. Once.

He got blood on his hands and wide brown eyes in front of him and he got catapulted into the past.

When Damian's _just_ Damian, he can't do it.

He _can't_.

Because down there, Damian was just Damian. No titles, no blood ties, no _Robin_.

He was just himself.

And nobody cared who he was when he was alive.

They wouldn't have cared if he was King of the World.

Because down there?

 _You_ were _just_ you.

Nothing to hide behind.

Nothing to keep a secret.

 _Nothing_ was important except survival.

Nothing could _be_ as important as that, because when you're fighting for your soul, you see what happens to those who _can't_.

And it's horrifying.

It's terrifying.

Damian almost had it happen to him a few times.

Your unearthly glow is gone. In its place is a simply you.

Blood. Organs. However you died.

It's all there to see. And your regrets?

Your final thoughts?

All in display in red flame. 

Damian shudders and grips the cup tight. 

It almost happened to him.

* * *

 

Damian doesn't breath a word about it.

To anyone.

They can't _know_ what he almost became.

They _can't_.

Because while you have to fight to save your soul, there's a thin line. Cross it, and your soul is no longer human.

You become one of the those who tortured you.

Damian had straddled the line more times than he can count, seen his nails flicker between claws and normal far too many times.

Damian almost went _insane._  

He's pretty sure he is.

* * *

 

The Joker doesn't scare him.

Oh, he can _try_ , try will all of his morbid little heart to scare the unflinching Robin, but he can't.

Damian has seen worse.

The Joker doesn't frighten him.

Not anymore.

(But Damian is scared of what he'll become when he's in Hell. He lacks the finesse of the others but he's just as destructive.

It's why he refuses to let Joker die.

Because in Hell, Joker would rule.)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [Tumblr.](http://nikescaret.tumblr.com) I randomly hold "request a drabble" things.
> 
> Also, please feel free to leave comments! I'm admittedly kind of nervous about this AU, so if you want, tell me what you think! (Also they just make my day no matter how shitty it's been, haha.)


End file.
